“That works for me,” I said. They shared more laughs, and Lauren eventually called for shots.
“Right, so now that they’re best friends for life, can I take my wife home?” Matt asked. “We leave for Mexico next weekend, and I want to be with Miss Honey without worrying about her father finding me on his daughter and him making my body disappear.”
“Yeah, I hate these things.” Patrick downed his beer. “And Andy’s dress is practically falling off. It’s ready for me to finish the job.”
I glared at them. “Would it kill you to keep that information to yourself? Is nothing sacred in your relationships?”
“Oh so youdon’ttalk about fucking everything that moves anymore?” Patrick asked.
“How the mighty manwhore has fallen,” Matt laughed. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard it for myself.”
He smacked my back and headed toward the bar, and I realized I wasn’t looking for them to accept Tiel.
I wanted them to accept me.
“CAN I ASK you something?”
Sam looked over his shoulder, watching my fingers as they traced the designs inked into his back. It was dark, but moonlight poured in through the windows, illuminating the fierce lines against his light skin. My dress from the architecture party stood in the doorway like a taffeta tumbleweed, and though I should have ripped my gaze away from his skin long enough to admire his house, I couldn’t. Those tattoos screamed with meaning and emotion, and I wanted to know everything about them. About him.
Nodding, he said, “Of course.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand about you. You’re always so cute and spiffy, and it’s obvious you like things to be clean and tidy, but . . .” I followed the knotted shape on his shoulder, dropping a kiss there. “But you’re all badass with these gnarly tattoos, and you have sex in bathrooms and that’s totally gross.”
In a flash, I was flat on my back and pinned beneath Sam. “Don’t do that, Tiel. Just don’t go there. Please, let it be in the past.”
“Which part?” He gave me a hard stare, clearly disinterested in this topic. “The sex or the tattoos? I’d kind of like to hear about both.”
Sam dropped his head between my breasts, groaning against my skin. “Pick one.”
It would have been easier to select which arm I wanted removed.
This was what drove me crazy about Sam: the unknowns. I thought we knew everything about each other, but then there was still so much to learn. I wanted him to tell me everything, put it all out there—the ugly, the awful, the painful—and I’d do the same.
There was a desperate need boiling inside me to definethis,and I needed to understand his past relationships to do that, but I was terrified to hear what he’d say. I didn’t want to hear about the women who came before and all the things he did with them but never seemed to want with me, but I still needed to know.
Just not tonight.
“What do these mean?” I asked, nodding toward the tattoos on his chest and shoulders.
He released my wrists and sat back, completely comfortable in his nudity. By itself, that was a win. He didn’t stay covered until the last moment, and he didn’t reach for the sheets the second we parted anymore. He’d even started telling me where his pump was located before I could ask. It was small, so small, but he’d let me in.
He pointed to his arm. “Obviously, this is a fishhook. I like fishing.”
“How have you never mentioned this?” I asked. “Where do you fish? When? How is that something you enjoy, with all the cold, floppy fish?”
Sam leaned back, laughing. “It’s nice to get out on the water, be alone. It’s a good time to think.” He absently dragged his fingers along my legs, leaving me wiggling and wanting more. “I’ve been thinking about buying a cabin in Vermont. Maybe Maine.”
“Okay, wow. See? This is why we need to have these little talks,” I said. “How else would I know that you’re going to run off to fish in Maine one of these days?”
“I’m not running off. Shannon would come find me, and drag me back.” He dropped down beside me and pulled me into his arms.
I’d heard a lot about Shannon. I’d heard about all of Sam’s family, but Shannon stood out. I couldn’t make sense of her level of involvement in his life.
I’d seen the sticky notes she left in his car, reminding him about appointments or calls he was due to return. I’d noticed his phone blowing up with texts from her at random hours. He’d mentioned her delivering his dry cleaning or occasionally doing his grocery shopping. He’d also shared the contentious battles they had at the office and the epic grudges she held. And one night, when we’d fallen into bed together after incredible live music and hours of dancing, he’d confided his suspicion that she was hiding something huge from him. More than anything else, he’d hated that she chose to exclude him.
It was obvious that they had a complex relationship, and on most days, his reactions to her were not positive. I didn’t usually understand the velocity of his annoyance with her, but I knew I didn’t like her on account of the stress she was inflicting upon him.
“Tell me about this one.” I pointed to the circle beneath his collarbone.
